


Witch-bound

by bixbobeau



Category: Original Work
Genre: Biting, F/M, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Groping, Prisoner of War, rapist pov, surrender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixbobeau/pseuds/bixbobeau
Summary: A witch is captured by an enemy soldier whose interest in her is less than professional.





	Witch-bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maypop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maypop/gifts).



> For maypop. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it!

Even without the dossier open in front of him, Rauffe would've recognized her. It was hard not to recognize a Sister of the Marsh when they'd devastated the battlefield so many times, and _this_ Sister had done so more often than most. It was amazing that they'd caught her, in fact, when previous attempts had left their soldiers gasping and bleeding into the dirt, and Rauffe hadn't gotten within a hundred feet of her himself. To have her standing here, in front of his desk and in iron cuffs spelled for obedience and control, felt like a trap, or perhaps a trick. The Sisters were known for their tricks.

There was no denying the face that was revealed, however, when his men stepped forward to yank off her mask. It was not the sort of face to strike anyone with its beauty—her eyes were small, her nose large, her mouth unremarkable in her square jaw—but he'd often seen those dark brown eyes looking out at the wreckage of their army after a well-aimed spell, and he'd memorized the shape of her face under its cloth. He'd thought he'd be killed by her in battle one day; it had seemed important to be prepared.

Her expression said she'd never thought of him at all, but Rauffe found he didn't mind that much under the circumstances.

"Lady Azolla," he said with a faint smile. "I hope your journey here wasn't uncomfortable. I'd hate to think you were mistreated by the soldiers, though I wouldn't blame them myself."

Azolla didn't react except to straighten her shoulders. Although he doubted it had been her intention, the motion drew Rauffe's eyes to her chest; she wasn't particularly blessed there either, but he looked his fill regardless, knowing she'd see.

When he lifted his eyes back to hers, Rauffe saw them burning with rage, a rage that no doubt intensified when he turned back to the papers at his desk. They were minor matters, all of them, certainly nothing to compare to the capture of the century; as insults went, it was effective nonetheless.

"You'll be staying with us for a while," Rauffe said. "At least until we find your Sisters."

"You won't," she said, and her voice was soft and pleasant to his ears. It was the first thing she'd said since her capture, if the reports were to be believed, and Rauffe could see why now; if her power was in her voice, she wouldn't want to waste it. "They're gone."

"Then we'll burn the Marsh to the ground soon enough," he said simply, before he waved to the soldiers to take her away. He didn't look up at the sound of her chains clacking across the floor or at the sound of the door opening, but he did look up when they were gone.

When the door closed, he smiled wide and went back to his paperwork, even though he knew it would take hours before the excitement would fade enough for him to focus on his reports again.

*

Azolla was interrogated thoroughly over the next few days, although Rauffe unfortunately wasn't around to see to the matter personally. With one of the strongest Sisters indisposed, they had to strike the enemy hard and fast, and Rauffe knew that his commanders didn't prioritize his personal satisfaction above all else; it turned out to be a wise decision when they gained ground, successfully pressing the Ulusians back beyond the border for the first time in four years. It was a decisive victory, and one that was sure to earn Rauffe a promotion, if he continued to perform as well for the rest of this assignment, and he carried that pride with him all the way back to Marshwood Keep.

That all meant little, though, when he checked on his prisoner the first thing the following morning, only to find her wearing bruises someone else had put there. It was infuriating, as infuriating as the fact that—true to her word—Azolla's Sisters had been nowhere to be found during the last battle. Rauffe couldn't stomach the thought of coming back the following day to see Azolla's skin dotted with more of the ever-growing marks, and so he put a stop to the interrogation for the moment. Instead, he made sure the magical wards around the containment cell were reinforced, each carving gouged deeper into stone, because he wasn't the sort of fool to underestimate a prisoner just because they were in chains.

When a week passed with no return attack from the Ulusians and no sight of the rest of the Sisters of the Marsh, Rauffe went to speak with Azolla himself. He didn't expect her to give him any answers, and truth be told, he would've been annoyed if she started spilling them now, after staying silent for so long.

She didn't disappoint him. Even with her iron cuffs keeping her bound to a chair in the center of the room, spelled as they were to resist any of her commands or attempts to free herself, she still looked powerful. She didn't cower from him, not even when he brushed a finger against the dark bruise marring her cheek.

"Colonel Warinn." Ah, so she'd even gotten some information out of her interrogator, or possibly overheard his name from the soldiers outside this cell; Rauffe would have to see that it didn't happen again. "I was wondering when I'd see you. Are you too much of a coward to interrogate me yourself?"

Rauffe smiled and continued to stroke her cheek. He could see her tensing and resisting the impulse to try and pull away, too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It wouldn’t have done any good either way, not with her body mostly immobilized by magic, but he admired the restraint nonetheless.

"Too busy, actually." He pulled his hand back, but only far enough to touch her hair; it was light brown, a perfectly ordinary color, although it was matted darker with blood or filth in spots. "I heard you'd been injured, however, and I wanted to convey my apologies." He gripped her hair and yanked her head back, hard enough to startle a gasp out of her. "My apologies, Lady Azolla. You'll be treated better in the future."

She bared her teeth at him.

"Like I'd believe an Atenion officer. Even if I wasn't in a cell, I'd know better than that." She pulled against his hold, leaning closer to him despite the pain in her scalp; she looked like she wanted to sink her teeth into his throat. "Ask your questions. You'll get nowhere, just like the rest."

"I don't have any questions, Lady Azolla," he said, and when he released his grip on her hair, it was only so he could step away to retrieve the interrogator’s stool. After a second’s thought, he placed it behind her, close enough that he had to rest his knees on either side of her hips just to sit down. She had nowhere to go when his fingers began to undo the ties at the front of her vest, and he took his time, letting the moment linger and sink into her mind.

Once he’d parted the heavy leather and pushed it aside, he spread his hands across her shirt until the warm shapes of her breasts were beneath his palms. He was pleased to find that they were bigger than they'd looked when pressed so tightly under her uniform, although they were still far from the buxom women he usually preferred; Azolla, however, wasn’t some tavern wench that he’d chosen for her body, and he found more satisfaction in the way she’d begun to tremble than he ever would just from a pair of big tits. Rauffe liked it when his women shook from the start, since it made their wide eyes and cries all the sweeter later.

"No questions at all," Rauffe repeated in hot breath against her ear, and he squeezed her breasts until he was sure his fingers had left bruises behind. The cell around them was cold enough to bring her nipples to hard peaks even under the thick fabric of her shirt, and he pinched and rolled them between his fingers while he toyed with the thought of circling around to suck them inside his mouth. If the rest of her coloring was any indication, they’d be a dusky pink, perfect for biting and sucking until they were swollen red and aching and a beautiful topping to the bruises on her skin. Another time, perhaps; for now, he was proving a point.

It was with reluctance that he let go of her tits, but any relief Azolla might’ve felt was smothered by the fact that he only did so in order to slide his touch down her body. When his fingertips reached the waistband of her trousers, he leaned forward enough to press his front to her back, letting her feel the hard length of his cock against her ass. Her quietly huffed out “ _coward_ ” annoyed him, and so he was rougher than he needed to be when he shoved his hand inside her trousers. His fingers caught on the patch of curly hair that led to her cunt, and he found her barely wet, but still wet enough for him to sink a finger inside her. She was pleasingly tight, although the way she suddenly swallowed made Rauffe think it was painful for her.

It made him curious.

"I've heard," he said conversationally, as he thrust his finger in and out of her cunt. She was already growing wetter under the stimulation, even as she went more rigid in his arms. "That Sisters of the Marsh are virgins. That all witches are." He pulled his finger out, just far enough to rub the knot of flesh above her opening. "Would it make you powerless, I wonder, if I was to take you right here? I think it might."

She let out a choking sound, the barest hint of a laugh.

"You're a greater fool than your predecessor."

The one she'd killed, Rauffe recalled. It made him shiver with instinctive fear before he remembered their respective roles, and then he pushed two fingers inside her. Still tight, still bound, and still at his mercy.

"Maybe," he said. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

It also gave him an excuse. Although Azolla didn't know it, this one theory was enough to remove his current actions from the censure of his superiors, enough to make what he did justified. If sex could cure a witch, after all, then it would only improve their chances at winning this war; Rauffe was already rehearsing the explanation in his mind, and the idea—getting away with it, getting _approval_ for it—was almost more thrilling than the act itself. Almost.

Nothing was more thrilling, however, than saying “open your legs” and having the command obeyed almost before the words left his mouth. Azolla couldn’t stop it, although he could feel her thighs tense in the attempt; she may not have known the capabilities of the cuffs that bound her if she thought resisting his command was possible, and the realization made him grin.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he said, and her hips began to rock back and forth immediately. “Until you come. Then you may stop.”

She made a soft noise—not whimper nor gasp, but close—and he held perfectly still, hoping to hear another one over the wet sounds of her cunt moving on his fingers. She was _very_ wet now, wet enough that his entire palm grew slippery as she moved, and he let her fuck herself for long minutes while he held himself perfectly still. When her movements became faster and more erratic, he brushed his thumb against the hood of her cunt, and she stiffened immediately, motionless except for the rapid spasming of her cunt and the heaving of her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

It was glorious, and Rauffe nearly came at the sight. It would’ve been a waste, though, to spend himself inside his uniform when there was a woman warm and helpless in his arms, and he reminded himself of that sternly when he pulled his drenched fingers out of her. It was becoming difficult to keep a clear head, a problem he hadn’t had since he was a boy; this witch was truly a gift.

“Stand,” he said, “and take your clothes off.”

Azolla did so, every motion jerky with her split seconds of resistance. First her shirt and then her trousers came off, and although there was nothing seductive about the way she removed them, each bared inch of skin felt like a victory to him. He could see the glistening on her thighs even in this poor lighting; could see, too, the way her legs were shaking as she struggled to pull the fabric over each iron cuff at her ankles. She said nothing now, and though she faced away from him, stubborn to the last, she wouldn’t be for long. 

He pushed the chair in front of him aside and then undid his trousers. When he told her to turn around, he was smiling, and when he pulled his cock out with his wet hand, he was gratified to see her eyes widen. It wasn’t surprising—women always reacted this way to his size—but rewarding nonetheless.

“Kneel in front of me,” he instructed, “and take my cock into your mouth. Don’t bite, or try to injure me in any way.”

The magic in her cuffs compelled her forward and drove her to the floor, and he held his cock out expectantly when Azolla bent forward. She obeyed his command in the most literal of fashions, doing nothing more than closing her lips around the tip of his cock and then not moving at all, and it made him laugh. He reached out a hand and buried it in her hair, and he used his grip on the thick strands to pull her forward until she choked and then swallowed around his thick cock. He held her in place while he fucked her mouth with a punishing rhythm, the sort that would leave her throat sore for days, and he enjoyed every detail. The way her hands balled into fists on his thighs, fists that clenched tighter every time he thrust. The way helpless tears pricked at her eyes before eventually trickling down her reddened cheeks. The way her mouth stretched around him as he pushed himself across her tongue again and again.

The way her cunt still looked impossibly wet despite the harsh treatment.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he asked, more to force her to look at him than for any other reason. He wanted those eyes on him, and he got them, still with their defiant spark. “You need a little more practice,” he said as he pulled his cock out of her mouth to rest the tip against her swollen lips, “but you’ve certainly had a cock in your mouth before. Did one of the soldiers have you after all? Tell me.”

She didn’t answer him, because the cuffs couldn’t make her speak. It was their one flaw, really, an irritating limit of the sort that came with any magic, but it wouldn’t matter in the end; she’d beg him before long.

“Never mind,” he said, as he released her hair. “Climb into my lap, and fuck yourself on my cock. If it’ll fit.”

Azolla rose like a puppet at his command, and she straddled him immediately with her feet barely pressed to the floor and her hands clenched tight on his shoulders for balance. He helpfully guided her into position with his hands on her hips, and when she began to sink onto his cock, it felt like a battle had been won. She grimaced with every inch of cock that pressed inside her, and the tight, wet clutch of her cunt felt just as good as he’d expected from the feeling of her around his fingers. She was, however, a little too silent for his tastes, and when she began to move, awkwardly at first and then faster once she figured out how to do so without toppling them, he tried to goad her into speaking, crying out, anything.

“This can all stop, if you wish it.” He brushed his fingers against her cunt, right where she was stretched around him. “All you have to do is say, ‘Colonel Warinn, I surrender.’”

“Never,” she growled out, and she even sounded like she meant it, though the effect was ruined somewhat by the new husk to her voice.

“Not even if it would help your Sisters?” he offered instead, and the answer was the return of stubborn silence. “Do you think they’d be treated better in your place? You, at least, enjoy it. Surrender, and I’ll never lay a hand on them.”

“I _don’t_ enjoy it,” she said quietly, more to herself than him. But they were pressed together from hip to shoulder, and she couldn’t speak softly enough to fool his ears.

“No? Your body says otherwise.” He rubbed his finger across the wetness on her thighs, and then trailed it up her stomach pointedly. “No woman’s ever gotten this wet for me. And I’ve had many women, my dear Lady Azolla.”

She didn’t answer that, but she didn’t have to; the way she was starting to respond to the rhythm of their fucking spoke volumes, and Rauffe had done this enough to recognize the signs of a woman who was starting to get used to the discomfort of him inside her. Starting to enjoy it.

It took long minutes of her moving on top of him, but when she came again, it was without him touching her anywhere but her hips and back. Her gasp was loud and startled in the confines of this cell, and she clenched her eyes shut, but not quickly enough to hide the look of shame in them.

“Stop.” She did, but not even his command could stop the twitching of her muscles, and no amount of avoiding his eyes could hide the flush to her cheeks. She looked like she was near tears. “Well, well.”

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she said, and he would’ve laughed, except he’d grown impatient with her stubbornness.

“I think it does,” he said, and he grabbed her hips firmly, the better to hold her in place so he could thrust inside her. This was the first time he’d moved since she’d straddled him, and she clearly wasn’t prepared for the force behind each thrust, anymore than she’d been prepared for her response to him.

When he felt like Azolla might be trying to distance herself, mentally if not physically, he fucked her harder. She’d be sore for days, which hadn’t been his intention at the start, but he refused to let her escape even this much.

“Surrender,” he ordered, and he bent his head down to bite one nipple, hard enough to almost break skin. She cried out but _said_ nothing, and he dug his fingers into her sides until his fingernails left imprints in her flesh. “I meant what I said. Or do you really think we’ll never find them? Not even one?”

She sucked in a breath, though Rauffe couldn’t tell if it was because his words had struck her, or because of one particularly hard thrust. Or at least he couldn’t tell until she looked at him; her expression was bleak, even on a face that was pleasantly pink with exertion.

“Colonel Warinn,” she said, “I surrender.”

Something inside of him clenched, and he nearly came right then. It was only willpower and discipline that kept him rocking inside of her without even a stutter in his movements.

“Beg me to come inside you.”

“Please,” she said, and this time it sounded like a sob. “Please come inside me.”

“There we go,” he said, as he felt his balls tightening and his thrusts become erratic. “There we go.” He held her against him for a long moment as his body released, a shudder and an explosion both, and she shuddered too; revulsion on her end, he suspected.

But she also didn’t resist when he tilted her chin up so that he could meet her empty eyes.

“Lady Azolla, I am a man of my word. You’ll find that out soon enough,” he promised, and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She didn’t move at all, which was just as well; if she’d been thinking clearly, she might’ve pulled back to ask about the part he’d left out.

Rauffe was a man of his word; he couldn’t say, though, what the other soldiers would do.

If luck was on their side, they’d each find a Sister all their own.


End file.
